Kitabı oku: «The Children of Alsace (Les Oberlés)», sayfa 15

CHAPTER XIV
THE LAST EVENING

The last evening had come. Jean was to take at Obernai a night train for Strasburg, so as to be in the barracks of St. Nicholas the next morning at seven o'clock, the regulation hour. His uniform, ordered of a Strasburg tailor, as was usual for the one-year service men, was waiting for him, blue and yellow, folded on two chairs, in the room which a month ago Madame Oberlé had taken, facing the barracks of St. Nicholas, about the middle of the rue des Balayeurs. After dinner he said to his mother: "Let me go out alone, so that I can say good-bye to the Alsheim country I shall not see again for a long time."

She smiled. M. Joseph Oberlé answered:

"My dear fellow, you will not see me again; I have bills falling due to-morrow, and I must work in my office. And besides, I do not care about useless sentiment. Well, perhaps you will not find it easy to get leave before two months. I dare say not, but that will only make you the better pleased to come home. Come! Good-bye."

More affectionately than he would have believed it possible he embraced him, and with a word from Lucienne in her clear, young voice, "Soon," he went out.

The night air was laden with moisture to a remarkable degree: not a cloud. A crescent moon, stars in thousands; but between heaven and earth a veil of mist was spread which allowed the light to penetrate, but dispersed it in such a manner that there was no object really in shadow, and none which showed brightly. Everything was bathed in a pearly atmosphere. It was warm to breathe. "How sweet my Alsace is!" said Jean, when he had opened the door of the kitchen garden, and found himself behind the village houses, facing the plain, on which the moonlight was sleeping, blotted here and there with the shadows of an apple-tree or a walnut. An immense languor escaped from the soil, into which the first rains of autumn had sunk. The perfumes of stubble and ploughed land mixed with the odours from all kinds of vegetation come to their fullness of growth and aroma. The mountain was sending out gently to the valley the odour of pine pollen on the breeze, and the mint and the dying strawberries and bilberries, and its juniper berries crushed by the feet of passers-by and flocks. Jean breathed in the odour of Alsace; he thought he could recognise the exquisite perfume of that little mountain which is near Colmar, called Florimont, where the dittany grows, and he thought, "It is the last time. Never again! Never again!"

There were no glittering points of light on the roofs; he followed the line of them on the left of the path: they seemed to have joined fraternal hands round the church, and under each Jean could picture a face known and friendly. Such were his thoughts for a while as he walked on. But as soon as he saw, grey in the middle of the fields, the big clump of trees which hid M. Bastian's house, every other thought fled. Arrived at the farm where the younger son had said to him, "It is by Grande Fontaine that you must cross the frontier," he went into the cherry avenue, and he still remembered and found the white gate. No one was passing. Besides, what did it matter? Jean opened the lattice gate, went in, and walked on the grass border, even with the great trees, to the window of the drawing-room, which was lighted, then going round the house, came to the door which opened on the side opposite the village of Alsheim.

He waited an instant, went into the vestibule, and opened the door of the large room where the Bastian family sat every evening. They were all there in the light of the lamps, just as Jean had imagined. The father was reading the paper. The two women on the other side of the brown table laden with white linen unfolded, were embroidering with initials the towels which were going into the Bastian linen press. The door had opened with no other noise than that of the pad brushing against the parquet. However, all was so calm round the dwelling and in the room, that they turned their eyes to see who was coming in. There was a moment of uncertainty for M. Bastian, and hesitation for Jean. He had fixed his gaze first of all on Odile. He had seen how she also had suffered, and that she was the first, the only one who recognised him, and how she grew pale, and that in her anguish, her raised hand, her breath, her glance, were arrested. The linen Odile was sewing slipped from her hands without her being able to make the slightest movement to lift it up.

It was perhaps by this sign that M. Bastian recognised the visitor. Emotion seized him immediately.

"What?" he asked gently, "is it you, Jean? No one showed you in. What have you come for?"

He slowly put his paper down on the table without ceasing to scrutinise the young man who was standing in the shadow, on the same spot, a step or two from the door.

"I have come to say good-bye," said Jean.

But his voice was so full of pain that M. Bastian understood something unknown, tragic, had entered his house. He rose, saying, "Why, yes, to-morrow will be the first of October. You are going to the barracks, my poor boy. No doubt you wish to speak to me?"

Already M. Bastian had advanced, had held out his hand, and the young man, drawing him back into the darkest corner of the room, had answered in a very low voice, his eyes looking into the eyes of Odile's father. Madame Bastian gazed into the shadow, where they made an indistinct group.

"I am leaving," Jean murmured, "and I shall never come back, M. Bastian; that is why I took the liberty of coming."

He felt the rough hand of the Alsatian tremble. There was an exchange of secret and rapid dialogue between the men, while the two anxious women rose from their chairs, and with their hands leaning on the table, bent forward.

"What do you say? You will come back in a year?"

"No, I am going to join the regiment because I promised to. But I shall leave it."

"You will leave it?"

"The day after to-morrow."

"Where are you going?"

"To France!"

"For ever?"

"Yes."

The old Alsatian turned aside for a moment. "Talk on, you women, talk on; we have business to discuss."

They moved away, whilst he, breathless as though with running, cried: "Be careful what you do; be prudent; don't let yourself be caught."

He placed both hands on Jean's shoulders. "I must stay: that's my way, you see, of loving Alsace; there is no better. I live here, and here I die. But for you, my boy, things are different, I understand – don't let the women guess; it's too serious. Does any one know at your home?"

"No."

"Keep your secret," and then, lowering his voice, "You wanted to see her once more. I don't blame you, since you will never meet again."

Jean nodded as though to say "Yes, I had to see her once more."

"Look at her a minute, and then go. Stay where you are – look over my shoulder."

Over M. Bastian's shoulder Jean could see that the troubled look in Odile's eyes had grown to terror. She met his gaze fearlessly; she had no thought but for the dialogue which she could not hear, the mystery in which she felt she had some part, and her face betrayed her anguish.

"What are they saying? Is it bad news again? Is it better? No; not better, they are not both looking my way."

Her mother was still paler than her daughter.

"Farewell, my boy," said M. Bastian in low tones. "I loved you… I could not act differently … but I think highly of you; I will remember you."

Overcome by emotion, the old Alsatian silently pressed Jean's hand and let it fall. As to Jean, trembling and dazed, he walked to the door, looking back for the last time. He was going then – in one minute he would be gone, never to return to Alsheim.

"Au revoir, madame," he said.

He would have liked to say au revoir to Odile, but sobs prevented the words.

He gained the shadow of the corridor; they heard him hurrying away.

"What does it mean?" demanded Madame Bastian. "Xavier, you are hiding something from us."

The old Alsatian sobbed aloud; he threw precaution to the winds – she had guessed.

"Odile," she cried, "run and say good-bye to him."

Odile was already across the room; she caught Jean up at the corner.

"I beg of you to tell me why you are so miserable," she cried.

He turned, determined to be silent, to keep his vow. She was quite close to him; he opened his arms; she threw herself into them.

"Oh God," she cried, "you are leaving; I know it – you are going."

He kissed her hair tenderly, a lifelong farewell, turned the corner, and fled from her.

CHAPTER XV
JOINING THE REGIMENT

At a quarter to seven, Jean Oberlé, wearing a jacket and round cap, walked by the stable of the old French barracks of St. Nicholas, built on the site of a convent, now called by the Germans "Nikolaus Kaserne." He reached the iron gate, saluted the officer, exchanged a few words with him, and advanced towards a group of about a dozen young men, volunteers for a year's service, who were standing at the end of the courtyard, under the clock. Cavalry men in undress – light blue tunic with yellow braid, black trousers, and flat caps – moved here and there over vast, level, dusty grounds. A detachment of cavalry, lance at shoulder, had taken up their station to the left by one of the stables, waiting their officer's command to take the road.

"Herr Sergeant," said Jean, approaching the non-commissioned officer, carefully dressed, but of vulgar appearance, who, with a protecting and pretentious manner, was waiting for him by the group of volunteers. "I am one of the volunteers for the year."

The sergeant, who had very long black moustaches, which he never ceased twirling between the thumb and first finger, asked his christian and surname, and compared them with the names and surnames on the list he held in his hand.

Meanwhile, secretly intimidated by the supposed wealth of those he received, eager to please them, but anxious lest they should discover it, the sergeant looked the volunteer up and down, as though seeking some physical defect, anything in fact which might make this Alsatian civilian ridiculous in the eyes of a non-commissioned officer.

"Join the others," he said, when his examination was finished.

The others were for the most part Germans, who, judging by the different types, had come from all parts of the Empire. They had dressed carefully, so as to show their comrades, volunteers like themselves, and the soldiers in the barracks, that in civil life they were men who belonged to wealthy families.

They wore patent leather shoes, kid gloves, yellow or tan, elegant ties, valuable neck-pins. Each man introduced himself to his future comrades. "Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Furbach, my name is Blossmann." Jean knew none of them. He merely bowed without giving his name. What did it matter to him who was to be their comrade for this one day only?

He took his place to the left of the group, his mind far away from the St. Nicholas barrack, while the whispered question, "Who is he – an Alsatian?" went the round of his comrades.

The easy-going smiled amiably, others put themselves on the defensive, and with the rivalry of racial instinct, drew themselves up and fixed their hard blue eyes upon the new-comer with an unflinching stare.

Two other volunteers arrived, and the sergeant, as the clock struck, preceded the fifteen young men up the staircase, and marshalled them into a room on the second floor, where the medical examination was to take place. At eight o'clock the volunteers were again in the courtyard, no longer grouped as the fancy took them, but drawn up in two files, the sergeant in attendance. They were awaiting the colonel. Jean's neighbour was a tall, beardless youth, son of a manufacturer of Fribourg, with bright eyes, and smooth cheeks, which bore, however, two scars, one near the nose, and one under the right eye, souvenirs of his duels as a student. Seeing Jean Oberlé's dreamy, reserved look, he put it down to timidity caused by his new surroundings, and took upon himself the office of guide.

Whilst the Alsatian, his arms behind his back, his pale, strong face turned to the gate, watched the people of Strasburg crossing the street in the October sun, his companion endeavoured to arouse his interest in the inhabitants of the barracks.

"You were wrong not to do as I did: I got introductions to several officers, and even know several of the chief quartermasters. There, do you see the wachtmeister coming out of the stable; that's Stubel, hard drinker, great eater, good sort; that other one who is watching us from the end of the courtyard, the man with a little red moustache, do you see? That's Gottfried Hamm – a bad sort."

"You know him?"

"Yes."

"Attention!" called the sergeant. "Eyes right!", He himself marched ten quick steps forward, halted with head erect, his arms hanging straight at each side, his left hand gripping his sabre below the guard. He had caught sight of an officer advancing towards them with deliberate step, wrapped in his grey cloak, the mere sight of whom had scattered some twenty hussars, who had been leaning against the walls sunning themselves. The colonel stopped before the first file of young men, the hope of the German reserve army. He was sanguine, bustling, and energetic, a very good cavalry-man, broad-shouldered, with thin legs, hair almost black, and eyes fierce in the interests of the service.

"These, Colonel," said the sergeant, "are the volunteers for a year's service."

The colonel frowned immediately, and fixing his eyes on each of these young men in turn, said severely:

"You are privileged. You are dispensed from more than a year's service. Be worthy of it. Be an example to the soldiers; remember that you will be their chiefs later. No breaking of rules, no larking, no wearing of civilian dress. I shall punish severely."

He asked for the list of volunteers. Seeing Jean's name he mentally connected it with Lieutenant von Farnow's.

"Volunteer Oberlé," he called out.

Oberlé stepped out of the ranks. Without relaxing the severity of his expression, the colonel fixed his eyes for a few moments on the young man's face, thinking to himself that here was the brother of the Lucienne Oberlé whose hand he had allowed Lieutenant Farnow to ask in marriage.

"That's right," he said; and saluting rapidly he walked away, his grey cloak swelling with the north wind.

As he disappeared, a lieutenant in the 1st regiment, adjutant-major of the Rhenish Hussars, a well-made, distinguished-looking man, bearing himself in the correct military style, a perfect man of the world, came towards the group of volunteers, and read an order assigning to each one his appointed place in such and such a company and squadron. Jean was to join the 3rd company of the 2nd squadron.

"No luck," murmured his neighbour: "that's Gottfried Hamm's company."

Henceforward the fifteen volunteers were part of the army; each one had his allotted place in that well-disciplined multitude, their responsible chiefs, the right to demand a uniform from such and such a depot, a horse from such and such a stable. To this they now turned their attention. Jean and his chance companion, son of a librarian of Leipzig, made their way to the top floor of the barrack, entered the clothing-stores and received their uniforms, leaving behind various articles, such as cavalry cloaks and pairs of boots, which the kammer-sergeant was pleased to accept for himself as a token of welcome, or undertook to remit to certain non-commissioned officers of the company. It was a long business, and did not finish till past ten. Then there was a visit to the principal brusher's room, where there was the little wardrobe of white wood, used henceforth in common by the volunteer and the soldier; and there was still the visit to the stable sergeant, whose duty it was to assign to each his horse and second brusher; then another to the regimental tailor; it was past midday when Jean was able to leave the barracks and lunch hastily.

For this first day the volunteers were dispensed from returning to barracks at one o'clock. It was only after the horses had been groomed that they made their appearance simultaneously as arranged between themselves, radiant in their shining new uniforms, before the curious gaze of the cavalry, and the jealous scrutiny of the non-commissioned officers who examined, as they passed, the cut and quality of their uniforms, the style of their collars and braid, the lustre of their shining boots. Among the young men there was only one who remained a stranger to the self-complacency of the others. He was thinking of a telegram which he should have received by now, of which the terms of the pre-arranged code floated before his eyes all the afternoon. This was his only thought. Anxiety at not hearing news of his uncle Ulrich's departure, nervousness mixed with a certain defiance which, in anticipation of the morrow, he mentally hurled at the authority to which he at present bowed, prevented the young man from feeling fatigue. It was half-past eight before the exercises for man and horse were concluded, and then some of the volunteers were so tired that they sought their beds, supperless. Jean did likewise, but for a different reason. He went at once to the Rue des Balayeurs.

The landlady met him at the door:

"There is a telegram for you, M. Oberlé."

Jean went to his room, lit a candle, and read the unsigned telegram awaiting him:

"All is well."

This meant that all was ready for next day, that M. Ulrich had made all necessary preparations. The dice were cast; on the 2nd October, in a few hours, Jean would leave the barracks of Alsace. Although he never hesitated for a moment, yet, upon reading the words which settled his fate, the young man was overcome by emotion. The reality of separation entered his soul more bitterly, and being physically weary, he wept.

He had thrown himself on his bed fully dressed, his face buried in his pillow; he thought of all his friends who remained behind in Alsace, whilst he was an exile for ever; he could hear their exclamations of pity or indignation when the news reached Alsheim; he saw the girl he loved, the radiant Odile of Easter Eve, become the despairing woman who had clung to him in the moment of farewell, guessing all, yet begging for an answer he could not give. All this was necessary, irreparable. The night passed slowly. Silence reigned in the streets. Jean realised that he would soon need all his moral energy, and endeavoured to lay aside vain visions and regrets, repeating to himself over and over again the plans settled between himself and his uncle at their last interview, which he was to carry out in every detail to-day.

Yes, to-day, for the neighbouring cocks were beginning to crow. It was not possible to leave by an early train. The rendezvous at the barracks was fixed for four o'clock, while the first train for Schirmeck left Strasburg at 5.48; he would not reach Russ-Hersbach until after seven, and to take it was a great risk. The absence of a volunteer would be noticed in less than three hours, and the alarm given. Uncle Ulrich and Jean had come to the conclusion that the most sure means of crossing the frontier without arousing suspicion was to take the train which left Strasburg at 12.10 a.m., that is to say, whilst the volunteers were at lunch.

"I have been over the ground to make sure," said M. Ulrich: "I am sure of my calculations. You will reach Russ-Hersbach at twenty-one minutes past one, a trap will take us to Schirmeck in a quarter of an hour. We turn to the right and reach Grande Fontaine half an hour later. There we leave the trap, and, thanks to our good legs, we can reach French ground by two forty-five or fifty. There I leave you and return."

It was important to catch the 12.10 train, which would be an easy matter, as the volunteers were usually free by eleven.

Jean fell asleep at last, but not for long. Before four in the morning he was again at the barracks.

The short repose he had taken had restored his strength of will. Like most energetic people, Jean was nervous beforehand, but when the moment of action came difficulties vanished. While the horses were being groomed, and during the exercises, which lasted till close on eleven, he was perfectly calm. His attitude was even less reserved and detached than on the previous day, and his Saxon comrade remarked upon it.

"Already at home?" he inquired.

Jean smiled. He looked upon buildings, officers, and soldiers, all the pomp of the German army, with the same feelings as a school-boy set at liberty looks on the professors and pupils of his college. He already felt detached from his surroundings, and observed with a certain amused curiosity the scenes he would never see again.

About eleven he saw at the head of a detachment of Hussars, Lieutenant Farnow ride into the barracks, superb in his youth and military splendour. The horses were splashed with mud from their ride, and the men, tired out, only awaited the signal to halt, that they might curse the day's exercises. Not in the least weary, Farnow rode into the courtyard with as much pleasure as though he had been invited to a hunting party, and was expecting the signal to start. "There's my sister's future husband," thought Jean; "we shall never see one another again, and if war breaks out, he is my enemy."

He saw the vision of a tall cavalry chief, charging across a dusty plain, rising in his stirrups, nostrils distended, shouting out orders. Farnow, not suspecting the distraction he was causing the young volunteer, just let his blue eyes linger a minute on the latter's face. He moved off, followed by his men, to the farther side of the courtyard. A brief word of command was heard, then the clashing of arms, and silence. The exercises were prolonged another half hour, to satisfy the instructor's zeal. At half-past eleven Jean was rushing up the staircase, knowing that there was barely time to catch the train, when one of the men of his company called out:

"There's no time to go out; we have a review at midday: it's the captain's orders."

Jean continued on up the stairs, not paying the slightest attention to this obstacle raised at the last minute. His mind was made up. He was going to leave. He would meet his uncle at Russ-Hersbach, who would be waiting there with a carriage. Jean's one thought was to reach the station. He changed hurriedly, and mixing with a group of men belonging to other companies, and who had no reason to remain in barracks, he had no difficulty in getting away. When he was in the street, some yards away from the guard-house, on the pavement of the rue des Balayeurs he began to run. The clock stood at seventeen minutes to twelve. Was there time to run the three hundred yards which lay between him and his apartments, change into civilian dress and catch the 12.10? It was some distance to the station. On the other hand there was great risk in attempting to cross the frontier in uniform. While he was running Jean thought it would be simple to change in the train or at Russ-Hersbach. Entering the hall, he called breathlessly to his landlady:

"I am in a great hurry. Will you call a cab? I will be down in a minute."

Three minutes later he ran down carrying a bag into which he had thrown his civilian clothes, which he had left ready on his bed. He jumped into the cab, giving as address, "Rue de la Mésange," but at the next corner he called out: "Drive with all speed to the station, coachman."

He reached the station a minute before the time, got his ticket for Russ-Hersbach, and jumped into a first-class compartment, which contained two other passengers. A minute later the train had entered the tunnel under the fortifications, reappeared, and steamed away to the west, across the plains of Alsace.

At the same moment the captain, who was holding the review in the courtyard, caught sight of one of the volunteers attached to his company, and turning to the wachtmeister said: "Where is the other?"

"I have not seen him, Captain," Hamm replied, and turning to the young Saxon, Oberlé's comrade: "Do you know where he is?"

"He went out after the exercises, sir, and has not returned."

"I won't punish him this time," growled the captain; "no doubt he misunderstood, but speak to him in my name when he returns, Hamm; don't forget."

There was no immediate alarm, but when the men again assembled at one o'clock for the grooming of the horses, which went on every afternoon from one to two o'clock, Jean's absence could not fail to be noticed. The whole length of the wall outside the stables, horses tethered to iron rings were being brushed down by men, amongst whom were the volunteers receiving a lesson in the art. The sergeants looked on nonchalantly when the wachtmeister of the 3rd Company came out of his office, and made his way to the south side of the court, where Oberlé should have been. He bit his red moustache as his eyes wandered up and down the ranks.

"Oberlé has not come back?" he asked. The same man as before replied:

"When he left the barracks he ran towards his apartments."

"Did you see him in the mess-room?"

"He did not lunch with us."

"That'll do," said the wachtmeister.

Hamm turned away briskly. The expression of his face and eyes showed that he considered the situation serious. Serious for Oberlé, but equally serious for himself. Neither the captain nor the lieutenant was in barracks at the moment. If there was trouble the captain would not fail to ask why he had not been warned. Hamm crossed the courtyard, thinking over what he ought to do, and recalling a remark of the brigadier of Obernai. When Gottfried was at Obernai a fortnight before, he had said to him: "You are going to have Oberlé's son in your regiment. Keep an eye on him. I shall be surprised if he does not create some disturbance. He is the counterpart of his grandfather, a madman who hates Germans, and who is quite capable of any folly."

But before taking zealous action it was necessary to know some details. This was easy: the rue des Balayeurs faced the gateway. Hamm brushed his blue tunic with his hand, left the barracks, and made his way to a large house on the left with green shutters.

"Left in a cab, before midday, carrying a bag," was the answer Jean's landlady gave him.

"What address did he give?"

"Rue de la Mésange."

"Any number?"

"I don't know; anyway I heard none."

Hamm's suspicions became more definite. The wachtmeister no longer hesitated. He hastened to the captain's quarters in the Herderstrasse.

The captain was out.

Disappointed and warm from his sharp walk, Hamm took a short cut to the barracks, through the University gardens. He suddenly remembered that close by in the rue Grandidier, lived Lieutenant Farnow. It is true the lieutenant did not belong to the 2nd squadron, but Hamm knew of his engagement. It had been talked of among the officers. He made his way to the superb stone house and mounted to the first floor.

"The lieutenant is dressing," replied the orderly to his question.

Von Farnow in shirt and trousers was dressing before paying certain calls, and going to the officers' casino. In trousers and shirt he was leaning over his toilet-table with its bevelled glass, washing his face. The room was perfumed with eau-de-cologne, brushes and manicure set were strewn round him. He turned as the door opened, his face all wet.

"What is the matter, Hamm?" he cried, seizing a towel.

"I took upon myself to call upon you, lieutenant, as the captain is not there, and Oberlé – "

"Oberlé? What has he done?" Farnow interrupted nervously.

"He has not put in an appearance since half-past eleven this morning."

Farnow, who was drying his face, threw down the towel violently on the table, and approached the non-commissioned officer. He remembered Madame Oberlé's fears. "He thinks as I do," thought Hamm.

"Has not come back? Have you been to the rue des Balayeurs?"

"Yes, lieutenant; he left the house in a cab at ten minutes to twelve."

The young lieutenant felt as though death's icy hand was on his heart. He closed his eyes for a moment, and with a violent effort regained his composure.

"There is only one thing to do, Hamm," he said. He was deadly pale, but not a muscle of his face quivered. "You must warn your captain, and he will do what is prescribed in such cases."

Farnow turned calmly, and looked at the ornamental clock on his desk.

"One-forty – you must be quick."

The wachtmeister saluted and withdrew.

The lieutenant ran to the adjoining study, and asked to be connected with the Strasburg station. Ten minutes later the telephone bell rang, and he learnt that a volunteer of the 9th Hussars, in uniform, had reached the station at the last moment with a valise portmanteau and taken a first-class ticket to Russ-Hersbach.

"It's impossible," exclaimed Farnow, throwing himself on to the sofa; "there must be some mistake Russ-Hersbach is almost on the frontier. Jean would not desert – he is in love; he must be at Alsheim – he must at least have wanted to see Odile again. I must find out."

"Hermann," he called, rapping with his knuckles on the mahogany table.

The orderly, a stolid German, opened the door.

"Saddle my horse and yours immediately."

Farnow was soon ready; he hastened downstairs, found the horses waiting, crossed Strasburg, and once past the fortifications, spurred his horse to a sharp trot.

As he neared Alsheim, Jean's desertion seemed to him more credible. Every detail of his conversation with Madame Oberlé came back to him, and other reasons as well for believing the calamity against which his imperious will was fighting desperately. "He does not understand Germany; he was glorying in it at Councillor Brausig's. And then his disunited family – a disunion increased by my engagement. But then he is himself engaged, or almost; and characters like his, French characters, must be dominated by love. No; I shall find him there – or have news of him."

It was warm; the long dusty road stretched from village to village, without shade, a thin line between the fields, now bare of their crops. The sky hung over them like brass, on the horizon banks of motionless clouds rose above the Vosges, throwing out rays of light. The horses, covered with sweat, continued to gallop. Under the scattered walnut-trees, among the stubble, children raised their switches and shouted as the riders passed them.